


Phosphorus

by uniformly



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Gen, Johnny Martin: PI, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:50:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniformly/pseuds/uniformly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What’s it like,” Illinois said, “as exciting as they show it on TV?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phosphorus

**Author's Note:**

> As always: based on HBO representation, not mine, etc.

Included in the lease was the stipulation that smoking took place in the narrow alley behind the building. Anybody wishing access had to take the back stairs and leave by the rear door, and then pick their way back round to the front of the building to re-enter, because the rear door was deadlocked.

The concrete dipped where it met the building and there was always a puddle of water to step in upon exiting. It would explain the cracks that ran up the inside walls, and the split in skirting and cornices, if water was allowed to pool beneath the squat three-storey.

The door locked after Johnny, and he side-stepped the puddle as he pulled out a soft-pack from his coat pocket. He tapped a cigarette partway from the carton and brought it to his lips to pull out. The packet went back in his pocket and he fished out a small box of matches. Johnny lit up and inhaled, paper curling back from the cigarette in an audible crackle.

The alley smelled like piss, wet and old trash. It was cool and always shaded. During winter, it filled with slushy grey snow that caught on the hem of his trousers and melted into his socks. All in all, he was paying too much for the privilege of smoking next to a row of silver, dented bins, and Johnny resolved to pull out the leasing section of the paper as soon as he had a chance.

The sound of someone coming down the stairs jolted Johnny from thoughts buried deep in circumstantial evidence, and he shifted aside as the door slammed open, the sound like a shot ringing through the narrow space. He winced, eyes narrowed as he watched another of the building’s tenants stamp through the puddle – he kicked water off, indicating habit – and slump against the brick wall.

The door shut with a loud click, still rattling, and the man – short and stocky, olive-skinned and with a head of thick black hair (Johnny had long given up on the instinctual need to profile every person he met) – shoved a hand in his trousers, then jacket, and trousers again before he fished out a single, bent cigarette along with a bright yellow lighter.

The man cupped a hand around the lighter as he brought it up to the cigarette clamped between his lips. Two clicks and then he swore, shook it and tried again. Johnny watched him do it a third time, waited until he read it in the man’s stance that he was going to ask for a light before he took his packet of matches and strode over.

Johnny slid open the box – advertisement of the local pub on the front – fished out a stick and struck it against the side. The dark-skinned man jutted the cigarette forward, still between his lips, into the flame and Johnny watched as his cheeks hollowed, light playing across his face, as the tobacco took.

“Thanks,” the man said as he leaned back.

Johnny shook the match and flicked what was left of it into the water collecting against the building.

“It’s fine,” Johnny said.

The man studied him, brows thick over his dark eyes until he took the cigarette between his fingers and indicated. “You’re that private eye on the top floor ain’t you?”

Johnny finished off his smoke, dropped the stump; ground it with the heel of his boot and then said, “Illinois.”

Illinois stared for a moment in clear confusion, before he grinned. “Yeah, Joliet, near Chicago. You?”

“Ohio.”

“What’s it like,” Illinois said, “as exciting as they show it on TV?”

Johnny figured that Illinois wasn’t talking about Ohio and said, “Yeah, I wish. Just a lot of sitting around and fighting people to answer questions.”

“What you investigatin now?”

“Been hired by some fella who thinks his kid’s been offed.”

It was part the truth – Dike hadn’t been heard from for some time and Johnny doubted his old man knew some of the information about his son that he’d dug up.

“Shit, you don’t say.” Illinois took another drag of the cigarette and continued, “You got any leads yet?”

“If I wanted to report to someone,” Johnny said, “I’d’ve joined the police.”

Johnny watched Illinois fumble a response until he couldn’t hold back his grin. “You’re all right,” Johnny said.

“Jesus Christ,” Illinois said as he finished off his cigarette and disposed of it. “You had me thinkin I was a dead man.”

They made their way to the front of the building and Johnny said, just before Illinois peeled off for the automatic doors, “No leads, but I’m chasing up a contact in the PD for some case info.”

“Yeah?” Illinois said, “well, good luck,” and then, as if he couldn’t help it: “Lemme know if you find anything.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, “will do.”

“Frank, by the way,” Illinois called out before Johnny was out of earshot.

“Frank Perconte,“ Johnny didn’t turn, but he lifted a hand, waved once. "Already got it, kid.”


End file.
